Santa Barbara Burning
by J.L. Hastings
Summary: A series of hate-crimes leads Shawn and Gus to believe that there may be a Neo-Nazi movement in Santa Barbara, but when they can't convince the SBPD of it, they try to prove it themselves...with dire consequences. T for whumpage and themes of racism. R&R!
1. Prologue: 1987

**A/N: I started this at the height of my Psych obsession, and because I never know if my obsessions will last long enough to finish a project, I am going to make this last no more than five chapters, in the hopes that fewer chapters will at least enable me to finish this project. If I find that my obsession is still going toward the end, I will go in and put in more chapters and such. In any case, reviews always help the updating area!**

**Summary: A case involving hate crimes leads Shawn and Gus to the discovery of what may be a Neo-Nazi movement in Santa Barbara. When they are unable to convince the SBPD of it, they go to get the proof they need…with dire consequences. Shawn and Gus whumpage!**

**Timeline: This is set after "Mr. Yin Presents…" but there aren't many spoilers. Just a random mention at one point or another. You don't have to have seen that episode to understand this story…at all. Lol.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Psych or any of the characters therein. Additionally, I am making no money from this. It is done purely for fun.**

_Prologue : 1987_

"I don't understand why they wouldn't invite Gus to the party, too. It's not fair," Shawn complained, taking a seat at the dining table. Henry Spencer set the steaks on the plate; Madeline was working late that evening and it had been up to Henry to make a great meal and he had succeeded, even if he did say so himself.

"Well, Shawn there are things you need to learn about certain people. There will always be people who judge others on appearance alone. Kids like Paul Washington are like that; I've arrested Paul's father on many counts of hate crime and discrimination; he obviously passed that on to his son," Henry explained, setting Shawn's plate before him.

"But what makes Gus so much different than me or you?" Shawn asked, "Well, aside from the fact that he has a weird obsession with Michael Jackson and is generally a dork."

"Shawn, do you remember learning about the Civil Rights movement in school?" Henry asked, trying to think of the best way to explain the weird obsession people had with race and the extremes it had taken just twenty years prior.

"Well, yeah. They dedicated a whole month to Martin Luther King, Jr. and a bunch of other people. But that was a long time ago wasn't it? That's changed now."

"Unfortunately, there are still those that cling to past prejudices. It's an ugly fact of life, and I seriously doubt that it'll change completely any time soon, but that's just how it is. Now, tell me how you can tell something is poisoned before you eat your steak. We'll invite Gus to spend the night tomorrow," Henry explained, taking a huge bit out of his delicious, tender steak.

Shawn rolled his eyes at the usual testing but seemed to brighten up at the prospect of having his best friend over tomorrow night. He didn't care what other people thought about Gus or any of that other stuff about discrimination. At the very least, he knew that he and Gus would be friends forever.


	2. Of PopTarts and Hate Crimes

**A/N: And here is Chapter One! I hope you like it and please review.**

_Chapter One: Of Pop-Tarts and Hate Crimes_

"Gus, don't be a smashed Pop-Tart at the bottom of a backpack. I have a good feeling about this one," Shawn pleaded.

"Shawn, you always have a good feeling about cases. This one is just…gruesome. I think we're better off not getting involved."

The Santa Barbara Police Department was full of buzz about a body that had been discovered that morning. He had been burned to death and left there for his family to find in the morning when his grandkids were headed to school. Shawn had immediately dragged Gus out to the department with the intention of forcing his way onto the case, but as soon as the details had been told to him, Gus was very much against taking it on.

"We haven't had a real case in over a month! We need this, Gus!" Shawn tried again, giving Gus his best pleading look.

"We?" Gus said, cocking his eyebrow. The facial expression conveyed his disapproval so completely, that Shawn eventually cracked.

"Okay, _I_ need this case. I'm going insane, here. Please? For me?"

"Alright, Shawn, but don't expect me to go anywhere near that body. You know I can't stand the smell of burned flesh." It didn't escape Gus's notice when Shawn gave him his widest grin and did a triumphant little jump before trying to appear nonchalant.

"You're right, of course, Gus. The smell is rather disconcerting," Shawn said matter-of-factly. Only then did it occur to Gus to pay attention to where exactly they were headed: the morgue.

"Shawn--" he managed just before the door swung open and the smell hit his overly sensitive nose, nearly sending him to the bathroom immediately.

"Oh…I guess I should've warned you about that. Sorry, buddy!" Shawn said, covering his mouth and nose with a hand as he stepped inside.

Lassiter, Jules and Chief Vick were already inside, their mouths covered with doctor's masks. Gus envied them intensely; even with his hand pinching his nose shut, the smell managed to somehow invade his senses. It was taking every ounce of will just to keep from vomiting on the floor and adding to the stench of the room.

"Good morrow, everyone!" Shawn exclaimed, silencing everyone around him briefly.

Jules turned to face them, smiling ever so slightly with her eyes, though Gus couldn't see her mouth to tell if the expression extended that way. Lassiter's expression was even more easy to read despite the mask covering his face: a glare so intense that it would probably fell a rampant wildebeest.

"What do we have here, Jules?" Shawn asked.

Lassiter snickered. "You're the psychic. Why don't you tell us?"

"Carlton," Juliet chastised, slapping him lightly on the arm and earning a look of annoyance from the head detective. "Male, early sixties, African-American---"

Shawn looked over at the chart in the coroner's hand and _saw_; he saw the man's name, the headshot taken from the missing posters, the names of the loved ones that had reported him missing two days ago. His green eyes scanned the charred body, picking out the various strange markings on the body and forming his conclusions.

"I'm picking up a name!" Shawn suddenly said cutting Jules off, his hand raising to his head in a dramatic gesture they all knew too well. Gus stared at Shawn; the victim's name had not been released to the papers for obvious reasons, and Gus knew that Shawn was trying to muscle his way onto the case as always.

Shawn stumbled forward, hissing next to Lassiter and then moving towards Jules, his face the very mask of ferocity. "I vant to suck your blood!" he managed in what was possibly the most ridiculous Transylvanian accent in existence.

"Dracula?" Gus guessed, thinking it very unlikely that the victim's name had been Dracula. After all, they were dealing with a black man, not an absurdly pale Romanian with an obsession with blood and dramatic capes.

"'I'm your brother, Sammy!'" Shawn shouted, then he lowered his voice a few octaves before continuing, "'You're a vampire, Mike! Just like in the comic!'"

"The Lost Boys?" Gus guessed. Shawn shook himself, as if struggling to get out of the trance, his breath coming in heaving gasps.

"No…an actor. The actor…" Shawn said, his eyelids fluttering slightly as he fainted away a bit, as if overcome with the psychic vision.

"Jason Patric?" Jules said, her eyebrows raising in uncertainty.

"No…" Shawn said, scrunching his eyes closed tightly as a pained expression made itself apparent on his face. "The other…a different one…Sam…"

"Corey Haim?" Lassiter said, sounding resigned.

"Yes…I mean, No! The actor was Corey Haim, but this…this is Corey…Corey Jasper!" Shawn said, his eyes opening and a grin spreading across his face.

"Yes! That's his name!" Juliet said, looking proud.

"Cool it, O'Hara. It's not like it's a new trick or anything. So, you figured out his name. Congratulations. Can we please get on with the actual investigation now?" Lassiter growled.

Shawn sucked in a breath and his hand returned to his head. "Wait! I am also sensing something…something else…" his eyes opened again, and he pinned everyone with an intense stare. Most of them just blinked confusedly back at him before he finally continued, stating, "This man was dead before being caught on fire."

Silence descended on the room until it was broken by Lassiter's snort. "I think our coroner would have picked up on that, Spencer."

"Actually," the coroner said, staring at Shawn in what might have been amazement. Gus noticed that he wasn't wearing a mask and wondered how the man survived; years of practice maybe? In any case, the man was talking again. "He's right. There's a crack on the skull; the blow would have been more than sufficient to kill him. There are also many other cracks in the skeleton that lead me to believe that…"

"Our victim was beaten to death prior to being set on fire and set up as an example. Gentleman…Detective O'Hara. What we have here is a hate crime. Possibly even a lynching," Shawn finished. If this had been a movie, dramatic music would have followed the statement. Unfortunately, this was reality and Gus convulsively swallowed as the gravity of the situation hit him. There was a racist murderer loose in Santa Barbara.

~*****~

"A lynching, Shawn? And you want to take this case? In case you didn't notice, I'm black." Gus and Shawn had finished up the briefing in the morgue and hired officially by the chief. Shawn had been ecstatic, but Gus was doubting the benefits of taking this case. Currently, the two of them were stepping out of the Santa Barbara Police Department and headed for Gus's blue Echo.

Following Gus's heated whisper, Shawn suddenly stopped and stared at Gus, as if in a new light. "Oh my god! You're right. When did this happen?" Shawn asked, his voice full of feigned shock. Gus continued moving, leaving it up to Shawn to catch up.

"Shawn, I'm serious. What if this killer finds out we're hunting him and decides to take it out on me?" Gus pressed the button on his keys, unlocking his door and pulling it open. Shawn opened his own door on the passenger's side and the two of them quickly slipped inside and began driving towards the Psych office.

"Gus, don't be a---"

"No, Shawn. You already had your pithy remark about what I shouldn't be. I'm serious about this. It's possibly the most dangerous case we've been on."

"You're right. And taking on notorious serial killers is simply a walk in the park. One of which, might I add, nearly killed two of the people closest to us and we have yet to catch," Shawn stated.

Gus spluttered for a moment before finally stating, "I'm not saying those were easy, Shawn. But this case is a little more personal for me than it is for you. You've always been the type that can just get over the danger and scares you've been put in. I, on the other hand, am not that brave."

"What are you talking about, Gus? You're always telling me about how fearsome you are. Like a jackal. Turn here."

Gus glanced at Shawn briefly. "Why? The office is down this road."

"Because how else are we going to question the victim's family? Honestly, Gus, I'd have thought you've been working with me long enough to know how I roll."

"How do you even know their address? Wait, don't answer that," Gus said, rolling his eyes and turning down the road his best friend had indicated. He had known Shawn long enough to know that Shawn wasn't going to just let the case go, no matter how much danger Gus felt he was in. Of course, he also knew Shawn well enough to know that if there were any way to prevent danger from coming to him, then Shawn would find it. As non-comforting as that was (given the many times Gus had managed to find himself in a near-death situation), Gus found that he wanted to give Shawn the benefit of the doubt. There was something incredibly invigorating about catching a racist killer.

Gus only hoped that it was worth it.

~*****~

**A/N: That's it, folks! Please review and let me know if you think I got the characters down well enough or if it needs work. Much love!**


	3. I Figured it Out!

**A/N: More? Yes please! Hehe…here is chapter two! Don't forget to leave a review. This one is much longer than the others have been. **

_Chapter Two: "I figured it out!"_

The Echo pulled up in front of a yard that looked like just about every other yard on the block, with a house just as uniform. The only difference to speak of was the black spot where the body of the victim had been left burning throughout the night and discovered by the family the next day. Bright yellow crime-scene tape surrounded the area, although none stood in the way of the actual house.

"Are you sure about this, Shawn?" Gus asked, turning the car off and turning to his friend in the passenger's seat.

Rather than answer him, Shawn opened his door and stepped out of the car. Gus had no choice but to follow, heaving a sigh as he did so and locking his doors behind him. Steadily, the two of them made their way down a little overgrown stone path to the house's only distinguishing feature: its bright red door. Shawn knocked solidly on it, humming a tune absently to himself.

The two stood there waiting for several minutes it seemed, until finally the door swung open to reveal…nothing. Shawn and Gus blinked mechanically before finally allowing their gazes to trail down and land on a young boy, perhaps nine or ten years old, who stood watching them with dark, haunted eyes as he held open the door. "Can I help you?" he asked.

The maturity in his voice surprised the duo, but Shawn recovered quickly as usual. "Hi, I'm Shawn Spencer. Is your mother home?"

The boy didn't say anything, but instead stepped aside to allow them entrance. The second they were inside, the door swung closed and the boy slipped off down the hall to what Gus assumed was a bathroom. Shaking his head, Gus stared around the house, wondering what to do next.

"I'm sorry about that. He's really missing his granddad. Is there anything I can do for you?" said a feminine voice. Gus and Shawn simultaneously turned to face a woman that was probably in her late fifties. She was beautiful for her age, but her face was drawn and haggard and her eyes were red-rimmed, as if she had been crying a lot. Her recent loss was plainly written all over her features.

"I'm Shawn Spencer, head psychic of the Santa Barbara Police Department and this is my associate, Melvin Van Beanerschnitzel--" Shawn began, but suddenly, someone stepped up behind the woman, effectively silencing the false psychic and causing Gus to splutter in disbelief.

"Gus? What are you and Shawn doing here?" stated a very familiar voice.

Gus turned to stare in disbelief at his father. "We could ask you the same thing!" Gus replied once he had found his voice again.

"We _could_ ask you the same thing, but, since I am a psychic, we don't need to. I know exactly why you're here."

"You do?" Gus and his father said at the same time.

"Please, Mr. Spencer, you and Gus here should come in the living room. We can discuss everything inside," the woman that Gus and Shawn were assuming to be Diane Jasper, the victim's wife, stated, motioning them towards the archway that lead into the living area.

Once inside, Mrs. Jasper and Mr. Guster sat down on the couch together and Gus and Shawn looked around for a place to sit as well; ultimately, they ended up remaining standing awkwardly near the door.

"You said you were a psychic?" Mrs. Jasper prompted.

"Yes. As I told you before, my name is Shawn Spencer. I am the head psychic of the Santa Barbara Police Department, and you, Mrs. Jasper, are suffering immensely. I am very sorry for your loss. And you as well, Mr. G. I understand that Mr. Jasper was a close friend of yours once?"

"Is that true?" Gus said, sounding surprised.

"I…yes, that is true, but how did you know that?" he said, staring at Shawn.

"Do not ask me how. I am a slave to my own gifts," Shawn stated solemnly.

Gus rolled his eyes; he found that he had to do that an awful lot whenever he was with Shawn. "Shawn, shut up. Dad, I am so sorry about your friend. If you need anything…"

"No, it's fine, son. I haven't talked to Corey in years. How long has it been, Diane?" Mr. Guster asked.

"Goodness, about twenty-six years? Not since the wedding." Diane smiled wistfully and glanced at a picture of her husband that she had sitting on the coffee table in front of her. Suddenly, a few tears escaped from her dark eyes and Mr. Guster quickly moved to comfort her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Mrs. Jasper shook her head, letting him know that she was fine. "Wow…Has it really been that long?" Mr. Guster asked, not sure what else to say.

"William was Corey's best man at our wedding," Mrs. Jasper told Gus and Shawn, "The two of them were nearly inseparable their whole lives. In fact, Gus, it was your father that introduced Corey and me." Mrs. Jasper quickly dabbed at her eyes with a loose tissue she had in her pocket.

"Yeah. Diane was my girlfriend at the time. If I had known that Corey was going to steal my girl, I might not have introduced them. In fact, I was going to ask her to marry me! But then I wouldn't have met your mother; I suppose all things happen for a reason." Mr. Guster chuckled lightly at the memory.

Gus shot Shawn a look, but Shawn wasn't looking at him. Knowing him, Shawn was probably formulating the entire life story of the Jaspers by the type of furniture they used and the colors they had chosen for decorations.

"Oh, Will. You don't know how much it means to me that you're here even though you didn't have to be. Corey would be so happy…" And then the dam broke entirely, and Diane Jasper was sobbing. As Mr. Guster reached over to her once more, Mrs. Jasper leaned her head on his shoulder and let go completely, seeming to forget all about Shawn and Gus.

Gus, for his part, was not taking this quietly. He roughly grabbed Shawn and began pulling him out of the living room, ignoring his sounds of protest.

"She's seducing my father!" Gus whispered harshly when he was sure that they wouldn't be overheard.

Shawn pulled his arm away form Gus's grasp. "Relax, okay? She's not seducing your dad."

"What do you mean she's not seducing my dad? She's all over him!"

Shawn sighed dramatically. "Gus, look in that room."

Gus didn't want to look. He was already against taking this case to begin with and now he was listening as his father cooed and flirted with a widow that he had once dated when they were younger. What was he supposed to even be looking for anyways?

"Think, Gus. If you had just lost someone you are truly in love with, would you be hitting on an ex from over thirty years ago?"

"Well, what makes you think she was in love with her husband anyways? Maybe she's always been in love with my dad, and just never realized it until it was too late," Gus returned.

"Did you even look in the room like I told you to?" Shawn asked, sounding more exasperated than Gus thought he had the right to sound.

"No, Shawn. I don't even know what I'm supposed to be looking for!" Gus said, as if talking to an exceptionally slow child.

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Diane is wearing one of her husband's shirts; her eyes are red and puffy because she's been crying--"

"How do you know that's his shirt? And maybe she just ran out of clean laundry. If my husband were missing for two days, I certainly wouldn't be in any state to be doing laundry. And anyone can pretend to be crying, Shawn. It's actually quite simple," Gus interrupted, feeling smug.

"Do you just enjoy being wrong all the time? 'cause you're really quite good at it…wait, don't answer that. Back to the original matter at hand---I know that's her husband's shirt because there is a picture on the mantle of her husband in front of the fire station, wearing that exact shirt. It even has the same little hole at the bottom of the hem. As for the crying, I can tell when a woman is really crying. It's one of the first things my father taught me when I was a kid," Shawn explained.

"Okay, so she's just a good actress. That doesn't mean that she was truly in love with her husband and that she's not seducing my dad," Gus stated, all smugness gone.

"Did you see the pictures in that room? The whole place is covered in them. Look at that one for instance," Shawn grabbed Gus, and then pointed to one of the pictures that hung next to a bookcase beside the fireplace. "It's recent. Now I want you to look, and I mean _really_ look this time, at her face in that picture."

Gus looked at the picture Shawn had indicated. It depicted Diane and her decidedly un-burned and very much alive husband just sitting in their living room. Neither of them were looking at the camera. In fact, it seemed like they weren't even aware of the camera's existence. By the looks on their faces, one might assume that nobody else existed on the planet besides each other. Each had a look of pure, unclouded love on their faces.

"Maybe she wants to use my dad as a rebound or something. Girls do that," Gus said, but his heart was no longer in the argument. It was hard to argue with a look like that.

"Don't be ridiculous. She is just looking for comfort in an old friend. None of her body movements are the least bit romantically suggestive. If she were trying to get him to be her rebound, her hand would be lower on your father's back and she would be thrusting more of her body onto him, rather than just laying her head on his shoulder. Now that that's settled, come on---we still have to question her." Shawn patted Gus on the shoulder and stepped around him, back into the living room, quickly inserting himself into the conversation with some sarcastic comment or other.

Gus moved to follow him, but a sound from the kitchen caught his attention. He turned and came face-to-face with the little boy that had let him and Shawn into the house earlier.

"Hey, you need anything?" Gus asked, kneeling down a little so that he was more on eye-level with the kid.

The kid stared for another second before pushing past Gus and running up the stairs. Gus watched him go, shaking his head, and then turned around once again, only to be stopped by a breathtaking sight.

A woman stood where the kid had previously been; a beautiful woman. Gus tried to avoid staring, but something about her milk-chocolate skin, her wavy dark hair and her large, dark eyes so very much like Mrs. Jasper's kept him riveted.

"Hello. Are you a friend of my mother's?" the woman asked curiously.

Gus opened his mouth and closed it several times, trying to remember who he was and why he was there.

"Are…you alright? My name is Michelle, by the way."

"G-gus!" Gus managed at last, extending a hand. "My name is Burton Guster and I work for a psychic detective agency here in town, along with my partner---"

"Shawn Spencer. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Now, Gus, it's time to go. Say bye-bye to the nice lady," Shawn said, coming up behind him and snatching Michelle's hand away and giving it a shake before Gus could even shake it.

Gus was about to say something, but Shawn took him by the arm and dragged him out of the house in much the same way that he had done to Shawn just moments before.

Once they were outside, Gus snatched his arm away from his best friend. "What the hell was that all about, Shawn? I was trying to get some information," Gus said, getting into the Echo.

"I was saving you some major embarrassment. A nice thank you would be nice," Shawn said, buckling himself in. "Besides, I got all the information we need for now."

"What embarrassment, Shawn? And what do you mean, you got all the information you needed?" Gus said, putting the car in drive and heading back towards the freeway.

"Go to the Santa Barbara Firehouse. And as for the embarrassment, that woman was very much married. And had children."

Gus would have blushed, but his dark skin hid it quite well form his friend. "I wasn't going to hit on her," he returned feebly.

"Of course not, buddy. Now, here's what I gathered from our stay: Corey Jasper was a retired fireman, and he volunteered on the weekends sometimes. This past weekend while volunteering, he got into a major argument with one of the other firemen. Apparently, the man had said something incredibly racist and Corey got all riled up. Violence ensued, but it was broken up by the other men in the firehouse," Shawn explained.

"And so you think the man he got into an argument with decided to finish the fight and killed Corey?" Gus guessed, navigating the car over to the exit that would lead them to their destination.

"God, no. That would be far too obvious. No, I think that the man he got into a fight with lost miserably and went crying to someone else. And that someone else, say, his father, took it upon himself to get revenge for the attack," Shawn said.

Gus could see the fire station just up ahead as Shawn finished. "Why do you think it was his father and not someone else?"

"Because of who the other fireman was. You remember Paul Washington?"

"That kid that didn't invite me to his birthday party when we were little because I was black?"

"Exactly. While you were chatting it up with the lovely Michelle, I went to the bathroom and called my dad, asking him if he thought Paul Washington's dad was capable of something like that, and he said he was, without a doubt."

"Don't you think the police would have already heard about this? I mean, it's all pretty straightforward."

"Diane didn't tell the police about he argument when they questioned her. She didn't even remember it until I asked her if anyone might have had a problem with her husband. She said she didn't think so, and then she suddenly seemed to remember it. This is exclusive information, Gus."

"So, why are we going to the firehouse? Shouldn't we be calling Lassiter and Juliet and getting the perpetrator arrested?"

"We can't just go around accusing people. I have to feel them out, investigate…see what I'm dealing with. Not to mention, Paul's dad is also a volunteer at the station. This is the best way to confront him. And let's not forget that I need a decent audience to make my stunning revelation to," Shawn said.

Gus rolled his eyes, but when he saw just what was up ahead at the fire station, he felt a smirk turn up his lips. "An audience like that?" Gus asked.

In front of the station, three black-and-white police cars and one rather familiar detective's car sat waiting with their lights on. Even from where they sat in the Echo, the unmistakable form of Lassie was rounding up a large, greasy man and pushing him into the car.

Shawn tripped over himself in his haste to get out of the car and rush toward Lassiter. "What's going on here?" he called.

Gus snickered lightly and climbed out of the car, following Shawn at a slower pace.

"Ah, Mr. Spencer, here just in time to see us close this case, I see."

"What do you mean?" Shawn said, looking very annoyed at the turn of events.

"Well, I would think it obvious. Wouldn't you, Detective?" Lassiter said to Juliet, who was standing not too far from him, getting a statement.

She smiled when she saw the disgruntled look on Shawn's face, flipping another page in her notebook. "I really would think so. Especially given Shawn's unique talents. You'd think a psychic could tell when an arrest is being made," Juliet said teasingly.

"Jules, you wound me. Unless this man is Reginald Washington, then you've got the wrong guy," Shawn said, managing to wipe the disgruntled look off his face.

"Actually, it is Reginald Washington," Lassiter said, only slightly annoyed that Shawn also knew who the killer was. He was just proud that he had found it out before Shawn had.

Shawn didn't seem to have much of a response. "How?" he said, going for the obvious choice.

"I figured it out by listening to the accounts of Mr. Jasper's coworkers. They told us about an argument that had happened last weekend, and then it was only a matter of time before we came upon Mr. Washington here. We didn't even have to look at him for more than two seconds before he took off running," Lassiter said proudly.

Juliet closed her notebook, having gotten all of the statement she needed and walked over to where Shawn and Lassiter were conversing. "The second he was caught, the guy actually confessed to everything. Can you believe that?" Jules said.

"Yeah, that is pretty unbelievable," Shawn stated distractedly. "Could you let me talk to him at the police station?"

Lassiter opened his mouth to tell him hell no, but closed it when he got a glare from O'Hara. "Fine. But only for a minute. Consider this your consolation prize; you may not have caught the guy, but at least you were pretty damn close, Spencer," Lassiter said, patting Shawn on his shoulder as he stepped past him, heading to the driver's seat of his beloved car. His tone very sarcastic, and not just a little condescending.

Shawn didn't respond in his usual witty manner. Instead, he turned and walked back towards the Echo.

"What? That's it? You're not going to say anything else?" Gus said, catching up to Shawn quickly. "Is it possible that you know when you've been beat?"

"I don't know, Gus. It seems just a little too easy now."

"Just because Lassiter caught him so quickly?" Gus said, arching an eyebrow.

"Yes. Exactly for that reason. Think about it, why would someone confess the second he was arrested? Why not wait until he knew his ship was sunk?"

"Maybe he already knew that his ship was sunk?" Gus replied.

"Or maybe, he was covering for someone else," Shawn said, answering his own question as he climbed into the passenger's seat.

Gus sighed and climbed into the driver's seat, preparing to head towards the Santa Barbara Police Department. He should have known that nothing could ever be that simple.

~*****~


	4. The Whole Story

**A/N: Chapter three is here! I don't know if I already warned you, but there is some light Shules in this chapter. I hope you enjoy and please review!**

_Chapter Three: The Whole Story_

Shawn strolled into the police department as if he owned the place, Gus following just behind him. The two headed straight for the interrogation rooms, where they knew that Reginald Washington was waiting.

Lassiter was staring at the suspect through the two way mirror when Shawn and Gus arrived. "Well, there's the suspect. I can't imagine what else you need him to say, but he's in there waiting for you. He won't say anything else, though. Doesn't want to say another word until his lawyer arrives," Lassiter said, somehow managing to sound annoyed and smug at the same time.

Shawn took a step back, as if offended. "Lassie, you wound me! I don't need him to say a word," Shawn raised his hand to his head in his usual manner, "Remember? I'm psychic."

Lassiter stepped aside and swept his arms in a welcoming gesture toward the door that would lead Shawn and Gus to the room. "Then by all means," Lassiter said.

Shawn gave Lassie a wide grin. "Such a fine gentleman," he said as he moved toward the interrogation room. "Come on, Gus."

Gus sighed and began following behind Shawn. Only after they were nearly inside did it hit Gus that he was stepping into the room with a murderer. That in itself was alarming enough, but Gus was more or less used to that. But this particular murderer was also a racist, and Gus's only protection was Shawn.

Gus stopped dead in his tracks. "You must be out of your damn mind."

Shawn stopped and turned. "What is it?"

"That's a killer in there, Shawn. And why do you have to talk to him anyways? Can't you just watch him from the other side of that mirror? Lassiter said he wasn't saying anything else."

"Are you serious? Come on, Gus!" Shawn bounced impatiently on the balls of his feet.

Gus didn't respond; instead, he glanced sideways and pretended to be completely deaf.

Shawn did not have any patience for this, so instead of talking Gus into joining him, he grabbed Gus and bodily flung him into the room before following.

Gus shrieked when Shawn flung him into the room and tried to escape, but Shawn wasn't having any of it. He grabbed him and turned him to face the man Gus was sure was going to kill him.

In order to save face, Gus quickly put on his bravest expression and folded his arms, trying to appear casual and nonchalant. Shawn placed an arm around Gus's shoulders before allowing himself to finally examine his suspect and he saw; Saw the mud caking the suspect's shoes, the disgruntled expression on his face, the tattoo on his rather meaty shoulder and then he saw something else in his suspect's eyes, something almost smug.

"Alright, let's go, Gus," Shawn said, steering Gus back towards the door.

"What? That's it?" Surprise registered in the suspect's voice as Shawn began to leave.

Shawn stopped and turned to Reginald. He put on a pensive expression, shrugged and said, "Pretty much, yeah."

"No probing questions? No threats on my life or liberty?" Reginald stared at Shawn completely dumbfounded.

"I have everything I need," Shawn pointed to his head, "right here."

"How do you figure that?" Reginald scoffed.

"Well, Reggie, I'm a psychic and this, this is my best friend, Burton Guster. And the spirits are pretty adamant about something," Shawn said, turning a glare on Reginald.

It wasn't lost on Gus that Shawn had used his real name and Gus was going to tell him just what he thought about that later on. But presently, Gus was too busy being surprised at the expression on Shawn's face. It was an expression he had seldom, possibly never, seen on his best friend's face when looking at another human person: disgust and loathing.

Gus was brought back to himself at the sound of Reginald's voice. "Oh yeah? What are the 'spirits' saying?"

"That you're as guilty as you say you are." Shawn paused, allowing his words to sink in and that smug look to return to the man's face. "But they are also saying that you weren't working on your own."

The expression on Reginald's face froze. Even without Shawn's incredible observational skills, Gus knew that expression—it was the look of someone that had been caught red-handed.

"You can't prove it," Reginald said in a thin voice.

"No, but I will. Come on, Gus." Shawn turned and finally left the interrogation room, Gus following closely behind.

"Lassie, you might want to run some samples of the mud on the suspect's shoes," Shawn told the lanky detective when they met up again outside of the interrogation room.

"And why would I do that, Spencer?"

"Because it'll tell you about where he has been meeting his partners," Shawn replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"He didn't have any partners. You don't think we already asked him about that? He didn't even react," Lassiter replied.

"Which is exactly why he does have partners. If you'd been accused of a crime, wouldn't you jump at a chance to point the finger at some other players? Unless, of course, you actually had partners that you were covering for or afraid of. In which case you'd pretend that you were completely nonplussed by the mention of partners. Look, if you check the mud and say it was because I told you to do it, then I'd be the only one who would be humiliated. You don't have anything to lose," Shawn tried.

Lassiter considered this for a moment. "Fine. But if you're wrong, I'm going to make sure that every person you know hears about it," Lassiter said, then turned and went into the interrogation room. Shawn smirked slightly and then turned to leave the station.

Gus waited until they were nearly out of the station before he spoke. "Shawn, what the hell were you thinking?"

"What's that, buddy?" Shawn said, sounding distracted.

"You used my real name," Gus said, trying to sound as accusatory as possible.

"I did? Huh…I guess I did. Sorry."

"That's all you have to say? Sorry? Shawn, if you're right and Reginald has partners, then what if he tells those partners my name and they attack me?"

"That's not going to happen, Gus. Stop being a girl," Shawn said. The two of them were outside now, the Santa Barbara sun just beginning to set. "Let's head back to the office. We need to do a lot of research. And by we, I mean mostly you."

Gus rolled his eyes and climbed into his Echo. Next destination: the Psych office.

~*****~

The next day saw Shawn and Gus sitting in the office, having made very little headway in the case as far as they were concerned.

"Thanks, Jules," Shawn stated into his iPhone before hanging it up and setting it down on the desk next to some half-eaten slices of pineapple.

"What did you find out?" Gus asked, glancing up from where he was doing some research on his laptop.

"Not much. Most of this stuff, my dad told me about. All I know is that Reginald Washington has done a lot of time, mostly for hate crimes. Most recently, he did ten years and paid a hefty fine for an aggravated assault. He beat a gay guy into a coma right in front of six eye witnesses. He was working at the fire department as a form of community service."

"That's messed up," Gus replied, feeling an involuntary chill race up his spine; he couldn't understand why someone would act so violently towards another human being. It just didn't make sense.

"What about you? Anything interesting about the Nazi sign I saw tattooed on our bad guy besides the obvious Hitler reference?"

"Not really; It just says that 'Neo-Nazism consists of post-World War II social or political movements seeking to revive Nazism or some variant thereof.' I even went on this website that tracks societies and couldn't find any evidence of one of those Neo-Nazi groups in Santa Barbara."

"Alright. Gus, why don't you do a search for all crimes that have even the slightest possibility of being hate crimes within the last two years and check in with Lassie about those lab tests I told him to run. I'm going to take care of something," Shawn stated, standing up and popping his back.

"Where are you going, Shawn? Why do I have to do all the research?" Gus complained.

"Relax, okay? I'm doing some research too. I'm going to talk to my dad."

Gus thought about complaining some more, but he knew that Shawn didn't like going to his father for things like this, even if the two of them were getting along much better lately. The fact that he was willing to go to his father's house and ask his advice usually meant that Shawn was getting frustrated with his inability to solve a case, and normally, Henry afforded Shawn some kind of useful insight, even when it frustrated the hell out of Shawn. Gus decided that he was going to let Shawn off of the hook and went back to his search; maybe he could help shed some light on the situation.

~*****~

Shawn parked his bike in the driveway of his father's house and climbed off of it, un-strapping his helmet and draping it over the handlebars. He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his messy hair. There were a lot of things Shawn hated, but of all those things, he hated this the most: having to ask his father for help. And it didn't help that he seemed to have to do that more often than not lately.

"Shawn! What are you doing here?" Henry asked, stepping out of the garage and cleaning his hands on a grease rag. He had clearly been working on his truck prior to Shawn's visit.

"What? A son can't come and visit his cranky, aging father without some kind of ulterior motive?" Shawn replied.

"Not when it's you," Henry returned, tossing his rag onto a tall, red toolbox that stood just to the side of the garage door. He leaned against the toolbox and crossed his arms, casting a suspicious glance on his son.

Shawn rolled his eyes and gave up. "Alright, I need more of your help on this case."

"Ah. So the truth comes out. What do I get in return? The way I see it, I'm getting nothing out of this little exchange."

"Oh, come on! What do you want from me?"

"I want you to come to dinner this Friday and meet someone," Henry replied simply.

"Meet some—" Shawn's face quickly took on a look of discomfort. "No. No way, I'm not meeting your latest flame, dad. I don't want anything to do with your dating habits."

"Suit yourself, son. Let's see how well you solve this case without my help. Oh, and don't count on getting hired by the SBPD for the next three weeks." Henry moved towards the door of the house.

"Oh my god! You're the reason Chief Vick hasn't given me a case for the last month! I knew that you taking this job would ruin my life!"

Henry turned around, exasperation written in every line of his face. "I figured that you would need some time off after…after everything that happened," Henry stated.

"And it didn't ever occur to you that a case was exactly what I needed to get my mind off of things? Are you even my father? You'd think that you would now my personality enough to tell whether I needed 'time off' or a 'distraction.'"

"Shawn, I'm not going to get into this with you right now," Henry said, throwing up his arms in defeat. "Do you want my help or not?"

"Just forget it. I knew this was a mistake," Shawn said, turning back towards his motorcycle. 'I'll just go bug Lassie and Jules at the station."

"Wait--you can't just ask for my help and then leave--"

Shawn ignored his father and pulled his helmet back on, throwing a leg over the bike.

"Don't ignore me, Shawn. You know I hate that," Henry warned.

Shawn gunned the engine on his bike, not even bothering to look at his father as he said, "Sorry, I can't hear you over the roar of my bike."

"Alright, you win," Henry said, holding a hand to his head; a sudden headache had begun pulsing in his head as his frustration with his obnoxious son grew. It was times like this that Henry wished he'd had a girl.

"What was that?"

"You win!" Shawn turned the engine off just as Henry said this, so his voice rang through the neighborhood, and random beachgoers turned to stare at him, looks of puzzlement or, in some cases, amusement on their faces.

Shawn allowed a smirk onto his face as he climbed off of his bike. Henry just glared darkly at him.

"Get your ass inside. I'll pick up your slack for free this time." Henry turned and walked into the house without another word. Shawn bounced inside after him.

Once in the kitchen, Henry grabbed himself a cold beer out of the refrigerator. He didn't get Shawn one as he normally would, a sure sign that he was annoyed with him; instead, he opted to take a long sip from the can. He swallowed, made a sound of satisfaction, and said, "Alright. What the hell do you want?"

"Okay, hear me out. We got Lassie to arrest Reginald Washington and he pretty much confessed on the spot. Why would he do that?"

Henry shrugged, leaning against the kitchen island. "Maybe he knew he wasn't going to get away with it and decided to not even bother trying in the hopes of cutting a deal."

"Then why would he run in the first place?" Shawn returned. "And he never mentioned anything about a deal after he was busted. And there was hardly any chance that he'd get a deal at all. He had already done similar things, so it was almost a done sentence. What kind of a man would cut a deal with scum like that? Reggie had to know that."

"Sometimes criminals do things that don't make sense, Shawn. Maybe he had an epiphany and decided that he wanted to come clean and become a better man." Henry took another sip of beer then set the can on the counter.

"Then why did he look so smug and pleased with himself? If you were likely to be put to death sooner rather than later, wouldn't you look at least a little upset, or at the very least pissed at being caught? I mean, nobody is smug about getting killed," Shawn said.

"Well, what are your theories, Shawn? If I know you, I know that you always have some kind of theory. Let's have it, then. Why do you think he did this?" Henry asked, folding his arms.

"To cover for a partner. Or multiple partners. Perhaps an organized crime group."

Henry slowly unfolded his arms and looked his son over for hints that he was joking, but there was none of that usual mischievous look on his face. In fact, he looked sure of himself. "Are you saying that there might be a KKK group in Santa Barbara?" Henry asked cautiously, hoping that his deductive reasoning had finally failed him and his assumption was completely incorrect.

"Don't be ridiculous," Shawn replied. Henry let out a breath of relief, but sucked it back in as Shawn continued, "I think there is a Neo-Nazi movement in Santa Barbara. There is a very distinct difference between the two."

Henry pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "And why the hell do you think that?" Henry asked with more patience than he thought he possessed.

"Think about it, dad. It makes perfect sense. Gus is running a search on how many hate crimes have happened lately, and I suspect the number is much higher than people would think. Also, Reggie has this tattoo of a swastika on his arm. Not to mention, he has been in prison before. Wikipedia says—"

"Wait, wait, wait! You're basing this theory on a Wikipedia article? Shawn, I thought I taught you better than that."

Shawn made a frustrated sound. "That's beside the point. What matters is that the injuries on Corey Jasper were pretty extensive. I find it hard to believe that a single person could inflict such injuries by himself, no matter how mad or justified he thinks he is in doing it."

"I think you need more evidence than a quick confession, a bad tattoo and an unprofessional evaluation of a burned skeleton to prove that there is a Neo-Nazi movement in Santa Barbara. Call me when you have more evidence. Until then, I wouldn't broadcast that theory all over the place; it's liable to get you killed." Henry moved around the Island and began bustling Shawn towards the door not-so-gently.

Shawn shrugged his father off and made another sound of frustration. "Completely useless," he muttered, stepping outside. The door closed resolutely behind him. Thoroughly annoyed, Shawn pulled out his phone to see what Gus had to say about the research project Shawn had left him with. Maybe he could get somewhere, since Shawn obviously had not.

~*****~

Gus had told Shawn to meet him at the police station; apparently, Lassie had gotten the lab results back even sooner than any of them had planned, and the results were pretty good. The mud proved to be from an area of town that was all but completely abandoned, due to the toxic nature of the materials that had once been deposited there. It made a perfect place for secret meetings in the night, and Shawn was fairly confident that they'd find their Neo-Nazis there. The problem was trying to get the police to believe them. Not wanting to wait, Shawn had told Gus to quickly case the place out and see if they could narrow down the location a little bit more. Gus had responded that he would do so on the way to the station. That had been nearly two hours ago.

Shawn paced up and down Chief Vick's office, impatient for Gus to return. A terrible foreboding had begun to settle in his chest; there was just no way that Gus would be delayed two hours when all he had been meant to do was drive around the place and give a decent description of it for the cops and Shawn in the hopes of getting enough evidence for a warrant.

"He should be here by now," Shawn said for what was probably the millionth time, stopping and staring down the other three in the room.

"Mr. Spencer, take a seat," the chief ordered authoritatively, "Mr. Guster is probably just running late."

"By two hours? I'm sorry, chief, but that's just not how Gus is. If he were delayed somehow, then he would have called by now. No, I don't think so," Shawn returned irritably.

"Shawn—" Juliet began, but was cut off almost immediately.

"No, Jules. What if he was taken?" Shawn said, glaring at all of them in turn. "What if he got too close to the base and the Neo-Nazis saw him? They could be doing god-knows-what to him—"

"Look, we still don't have any evidence to suggest that there is a Neo-Nazi group in Santa Barbara in the first place. We can't even get a search warrant on the place. If, as you say, this group exists and Gus is taken, we will do everything in our power to get him back. But until we have more evidence, then we can't do anything," Chief Vick said, trying to sound reasonable.

"My best friend is missing and you tell me that there isn't evidence to go looking for him?" Shawn argued.

"Technically, Spencer, Guster isn't missing. He's only been gone for a couple of hours," Lassiter said. He tried to make his voice as comforting as possible, which, in Lassiter's case, was not very comforting at all. Shawn opened his mouth, probably to say something unfortunate, but Juliet stepped forward and placed a hand on his arm. Instantly, Shawn closed his mouth and settled for sulking silently.

"Come outside with me," she stated, nodding her head towards the door. Before he could respond, Juliet turned and left. Shawn only thought about it for a second before following after her.

"What, Jules?" he asked, sounding very peeved and impatient.

Juliet didn't respond; instead, she searched the halls to make sure that nobody was within earshot and that they were out of sight from the main office, and then pulled him into a kiss. Shawn responded reflexively, forgetting about his worry for one blessed second and just enjoying the feel of her lips against his.

Once they broke the kiss, Shawn swallowed. "That…" he began. For a second, he considered finishing that statement with the words 'was amazing,' but shook his head and stated, "…was very inappropriate."

Jules gathered herself and nodded. "I know. But I felt like you needed a distraction."

"Finally! Someone knows me well enough to know that distractions work better than doing nothing!" he said, trying to be his usual, goofy self but failing. His heart just wasn't in it, and Juliet could see the heartbreak and worry in his eyes.

"Look, I realize that you're freaking out about Gus. He's your best friend. But you have to realize that our hands are tied. We have hoops of protocol and bureaucracy to get through. Carlton and the chief are trying everything in their power to get a warrant, but you aren't helping anybody by pacing around and glaring at us."

Shawn tried to argue, but he knew she was right. The police couldn't do anything until they got more evidence.

"Tell me—if not one, but two people went missing in the same general area, would you then have cause to search the place?"

"That's what we call probable cause, so yeah. Why?" Juliet said, a puzzled look forming on her face. The look disappeared, however, when she saw the old mischievous glare in Shawn's eyes. "Just what are you implying, Shawn?" Fear began building in the very pit of her stomach.

Shawn kissed her again, silencing her for a few more seconds. "If I'm not back by tonight, you and Lassie need to come looking for me. My psychic senses are screaming that I need to find Gus as soon as possible. By my best estimate, we only have about a day before these guys move somewhere else, and by then it'll be too late for Gus." Shawn took in her look of doubt, and continued sincerely, "I need to do this, Jules. Please. Imagine what would have happened if a lack of a search warrant prevented us from finding you when Mr. Yin took you. Would you wish something like that on Gus?"

Tears tried to pool in Juliet's eyes, but she wouldn't let them come; she was tough. After all, she hadn't become a detective because of her good looks. Besides, she was still hoping Shawn was wrong. Granted, that wasn't very often but there really was very little evidence. "Be careful, Shawn," she said, giving in despite the way her heart flopped unhappily in her chest.

Shawn's face lit up like the fourth of July. "Thanks, Jules," he said, then he turned and bounced down the hallway, waving at Buzz as he went.

Juliet only hoped that this wasn't going to be the last time that she would see him alive, which seemed very likely if Shawn's crazy theory turned out to be right.

**~*****~**

**A/N: Soooo…what did you think? Review please!  
**


	5. The Penultimate Pain Experience

**A/N: Chapter Four is up, folks. Almost done! Please review and let me know if you want me to go back and make it longer or if this is the perfect length for what you all want. Reviews=Happiness!**

**Warnings: This is the main Whumpage chapter!!! **

_Chapter Four: The Penultimate Pain Experience_

Shawn crept closer to the one building on the compound that was lit up, heart pounding painfully in his chest. He wasn't entirely sure what he was going to do once he found Gus, but improvisation was Shawn's best quality and he intended to use this to his advantage. He wasn't foolish enough to think that he would be able to rescue Gus all by himself. At best, he could distract the bastards long enough for backup to arrive. He only hoped the backup came in time to prevent too much harm from coming to him, and more importantly, to his best friend.

Shawn swallowed convulsively, stepped even closer, close enough to see inside, and got his first glance of just what he was dealing with. He took everything in quickly, trying to pick out all the details.

The first thing that he noticed was that he had been right; Gus had indeed been kidnapped by a group of about six men, all white and rough-looking. The only one he recognized was the nervous-looking figure of Paul Washington. The others looked rather unremarkable, with the exception of two of them: one was so large that he could probably pick up a huge monster truck; the other was normal looking, but had an air of authority about him and all of the men seemed to defer to him. Shawn would bet everything he owned (which, admittedly, wasn't much, so he threw in Gus's belongings as well) that all of them had records and did time together. In Shawn's experience, Wikipedia may not always be considered a reliable source in the court of law or by his father, but it was seldom wrong, and it had said that many Neo-Nazi movements start in prisons.

The second thing he noticed was that Gus had been beaten, and pretty badly by the look of things. Rage began kindling in Shawn's chest, but he pushed it down. He wouldn't get anywhere by giving into his anger and hatred and trying to take on all six men by himself. He'd be lucky if he could even take down one of these guys, let alone all six, and then Gus would have it even worse. Nevertheless, he couldn't just stand by and do nothing. He knew enough about his character to know that he had to be doing something. Quickly, Shawn began ticking off options in his head.

One of the men, the leader that Shawn had pin-pointed earlier, asked Gus a question. Shawn could barely hear anything from his vantage point, so he crept even closer.

"I'm going to ask you again: What were you doing snooping around here?" he was saying.

Gus glared up at him. "I told you; I was looking for a bathroom and then your men mugged me."

Evidently, that answer didn't satisfy the leader, and instead of screaming at Gus, he simply stepped forward and punched him, causing his head to snap to the side and his knees to buckle beneath him. Gus collapsed to the ground, unable to prevent his fall due to the hemp rope binding his hands in front of him.

At this, Shawn ceased thinking and began acting. He boldly stepped out from his hiding place and walked right into the warehouse door. The other men stared at him in confusion as he grinned brightly at them. "Gentlemen! Why did you start without me?" he asked, affecting a tone of familiarity.

"Who the hell are you?" the leader asked, staring at him as if he were something particularly disgusting at the bottom of his shoe. Speaking of shoes, Shawn glanced down at the leader's feet and noted that he was wearing surprisingly expensive, tailored boots. Gears began turning in his head, but he had no time to put two and two together and instead, forced himself to answer.

"You don't remember me?" Shawn bluffed, feigning hurt and offense. "It's me! Westley. Your sweet Westley. We met in prison! And had that awful albino guard. You really don't remember?"

Gus was staring at him. His eyes said quite plainly what he was unable to say with his lips: 'What the hell are you doing?'

"Prison? What are you talking about? I've never been to prison; I'm much too clever for that," the leader said smugly.

Shawn blinked in surprise. 'Whoops,' he thought to himself, 'sorry, Gus. I guess I was wrong and we lose all of our stuff.'

"Boss," Paul suddenly stated, speaking for the first time since Shawn had arrived. Shawn glanced at him, his heart plummeting. "I know that kid! That's Shawn. Shawn Spencer. He and this guy are best friends; and he works for the cops!"

The leader turned to him, steel in his eyes. Shawn gulped. "What are you talking about? I've never met you in my life," Shawn glared pointedly at Paul. "And I certainly don't work for the cops. Besides, I thought we had a deal that we'd kidnap this guy and ransom him to the prince of Florin, pinning the blame on the king of Guilder. Was that not you?" Shawn tried one last time, although he pretty much knew his gig was up.

That was confirmed a moment later when the men exchanged a quick look. Gus knew his gig was up, too. "Shawn! Get out of here! Run!" he shouted, earning himself a savage kick in the ribs.

"Shut up, nigger!" the man who kicked Gus stated; Shawn felt another wave of rage at the slur, and would have commented if he had been able to. As things were, that was a bit difficult.

"Get him!" the leader shouted.

Shawn had enough presence of mind to try and escape; he now had plenty of evidence to get a warrant at the very least, and that gave Gus a much better chance of rescue than both of them being held captive.

Shawn's father had taught him a lot of tricks to escape capture, and those tricks had helped him immensely while running from Garth Longmoar after he'd been shot. Given his full bill of health, Shawn was hoping to be even more successful in escaping this time, but he was at quite a few different disadvantages this time: One, they were familiar with the place and he was not. Two, there were a lot more of them. And three, they were all bigger, badder and more dangerous than he was. Still, he had to give it the old college try.

Shawn leaped over a box, weaving in and out of as many obstacles as he possibly could. The leader was issuing commands to his men, sending them in different directions to head him off, and leaving one to stay and guard Gus. As he turned a corner that would hopefully lead him away from the complex and closer to safety, a heavy weight slammed into his neck and he promptly went down, his breath failing him and his chin and throat smarting.

He realized moments later that he had been clothes-lined, but he had little time to process this before the large man he had noticed before hoisted him up and then body-slammed him back into the cement. Agony flared in his back and stole his breath again; Shawn could scarce imagine a more effective way of restraining one's opponent, but that all changed when the man flipped him over and pinned his arms painfully behind him in an iron grasp. "Jesus, what are you? Some kind of giant wrestler?" he rasped out, fighting his discomfort.

The man did not respond, but pulled Shawn to his feet and began forcing him back towards the complex, never once loosening his grasp on Shawn's arms. "Easy, Fezzik," Shawn joked as Gus and the others came into view once more.

Gus stared in dismay as Shawn was brought back; thankfully, he didn't look too worse for wear. Just a little winded. Nevertheless, his heart sunk as the men tightly bound Shawn's hands with a hemp rope similar to the one that bound Gus's and then shoved him to the ground next to him.

"Geez! Could you be a little more gentle?" Shawn groused, attempting to pull himself into a sit position. Predictably enough ,the men completely ignored him and began conversing in low tones, probably trying to figure out what to do with their new prisoners.

"_The Princess Bride_, Shawn? Really?" Gus said despite the pain that caused his aching mouth and ribs, "You couldn't have thought of anything better?"

"Hey, _The Princess Bride_ is a classic, and it's the best I could come up with on the fly," Shawn replied, defending himself.

"That would make you Cary Elwes and me Robin Wright; that's just wrong," Gus joked.

"Penn, Gus. Robin Wright Penn. She's been married since then. But yes, that about sums it up perfectly," Shawn said.

"So, how did they catch you?" Gus stated after a moment of silence in which the two of them tried, and failed, to pick up on what their captors were saying.

"Fezzik there is like a wrestler or something; he clothes-lined me. And then gave me a full on body-slam. On cement."

"Ouch," Gus winced, sympathizing. He let out a slow breath and leaned back against a crate; he hated to admit it, but he was glad that Shawn was here. He would figure something out. He always did.

Suddenly, the men stopped talking and turned to their captives, glares firmly in place.

"We've been trying to figure something out from your friend here; so far, he has been unwilling to give a satisfactory answer. Maybe you'll be a little more forthcoming?" the leader sneered.

"Well, that depends entirely on what you want to know," Shawn said, "If you're wondering about how many seconds in a day there are, then the answer is 86,400. If you want to know how many spider eggs a human ingests in their lifetime---"

"A smart ass, eh? Donald, shut him up," the leader stated to the man that had kicked Gus earlier.

The man was only too happy to oblige. A solid punch connected with Shawn's jaw violently.

"Ow! What the hell?" Shawn managed.

"This is how things work here, Mr. Spencer. I ask the questions, you provide straight forward answers. And if I don't like what I hear, then you get hurt. Am I clear?"

"I'm not quite sure about the 'straight-forward' bit. Could you explain that again?"

The punch was expected this time, but it hurt a lot more and Shawn tasted blood as his lip cracked. Even so, he barely made a noise of discomfort before spitting out a gob of blood on the floor. "You really should stop doing that; it hurts, but neither myself nor Gus respond well to pain. In fact, hurting us only makes us less likely to want to answer your questions."

"Who are you?" the leader asked, seeming amazed at how persistently annoying Shawn was. Gus understood quite well.

"Well, my name is Shawn Spencer as your clever friend here told you. I am the head psychic of the Santa Barbara Police Department, although I do take cases outside of the department."

"Psychic, yeah? Then why don't you explain to me just what the hell you are doing, snooping around my complex."

"Let's see what the spirits are saying," Shawn stated, closing his eyes. Gus sighed and rolled his own eyes.

Shawn's eyes suddenly flew open and he pinned his stare on the leader. "The spirits say that I was wrong. At least, mostly wrong. See, I came here thinking you were a Neo-Nazi, white supremacy group. But that's only a few of you, right? I'm sensing that there's more than racism at work here. You, for instance," Shawn indicated the leader, "You don't care at all about what race a person is. You were only looking for hired muscle, like Fezzik over there, and those others--Donald and Reginald at least, and Reggie's son Paul, were a convenient pick. They were already friends. I bet several of them did time together and started the whole white supremacy group from prison, which made your job easier. They didn't have any scruples with violence. What did they care, as long as they got to continue what they loved and get paid for it? But then, something went wrong."

The room had gone completely silent as Shawn's words hit mark after mark. Gus still found it amazing how Shawn could pick up on the slightest detail and make a whole story out of it.

Shawn continued, "Paul and Reggie wanted to kill Corey Jasper and Donald decided to help them. Unfortunately, when the body was discovered, that put your little operation at risk, and you couldn't have that. Someone had to take the fall." Shawn glanced at Paul. "You were their first choice, but you were too scared. You didn't want to go to prison You argued, and then your friends got angry and ganged up on you. That's why you're all covered in bruises and walk around here like a nervous, kicked puppy. You're on thin ice now, aren't you, Paul? In over your head?" Paul looked distinctly upset by this, so Shawn knew he was going in the right direction. "But that's when daddy-dearest stepped in. He offered himself up on a silver platter. The only thing I don't know, however, is just what kind of operation this really is. Slaves? Weapons? Or…drugs?"

The last one finally got a reaction out of the leader, giving Shawn all the confirmation he needed. "What's in all these crates? Cocaine? Heroine?" Shawn stated and felt a smirk turning up his lips as the leader's face screwed up into an ugly expression and turned bright red. Donald, picking up on his boss's distress, moved forward to shut Shawn up.

This time, however, he didn't punch Shawn. Instead, he grabbed a handful of his hair, ignoring Shawn's complaints about ruining his perfect hair, and slammed his head into a corner of the crate that he and Gus had been propped up against. Bright, white agony exploded in Shawn's head. Blood began flowing from the wound and into his eyes, consciousness beginning to slip from him, but he refused to pass out. Yes, his head hurt (a lot) but losing consciousness would only make things worse.

"Shawn!" Gus said, worry and panic evident in his voice.

"'M okay, buddy," Shawn mumbled, and Donald prepared to hit him again.

"Wait!" the leader stated. He seemed to have regained his composure quite nicely, and Shawn wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. "Slamming his head into a crate, while highly entertaining, is not going to get me the answers I need, such as how much the police know about this whole operation. Hurt the friend--that will work better with this sort."

Donald grinned viciously, and the others grinned back: this was exactly what they enjoyed most, hurting the inferior race. Fezzik smirked only a little bit as he and the leader stepped aside to watch the festivities rather than take part in them, but the giant had a length of rope (fashioned into a noose, Shawn noted with dismay) in his hand that told him he wouldn't hesitate to use violence as well.

"What!? No, leave him alone!" Shawn cried out, ignoring the pain in his head; he needed clarity if he was going to get him and Gus out of this alive.

The men ignored Shawn's pleas and pulled Gus up roughly by the elbows. As the men dragged him to the middle of the room and forced him onto his knees, Gus caught his best friend's gaze and Shawn saw the terror there.

The entire time that he had been talking, Shawn had been working on his ropes. He doubled his efforts now, trying to push aside the panic that was even now rising inside of him.

Meanwhile, the men had removed Gus's shirt and had switched out the rope that had previously been binding his hands together so that now he had each arm in its own rope that was being held by two separate men while another man, Donald, pulled a long, rusted chain out of a corner of the warehouse.

Shawn figured out what they were doing long before Gus did, and the terror at the sight gave him the last burst of adrenaline he needed to escape his bindings: he would not, as long as he was alive and able to move, allow these men to whip his friend with the rusted chain.

Finally free of the ropes, Shawn stumbled to his feet and began running towards Gus, ignoring the way his vision doubled and turned grey at the corners. Unfortunately, the giant he had nicknamed Fezzik saw him as well and flung his noose in his direction. The rope looped around his neck and Shawn tried to struggle out of it, placing his fingers between his throat and the noose. The giant was surprisingly fast, however, and had closed the distance between them in a single stride so that he was now able to tighten the noose around Shawn's neck painfully.

The noose was not so tight that Shawn was completely unable to breathe, but he certainly had to struggle for each breath, so much so that he wasn't able to really move and instead, had to watch as the men swung the chain and it connected with Gus's back. Gus's body jolted at the agony, and Shawn tried to scream out his name, but the giant only tightened the noose, cutting off his words.

Gus had never felt so much pain in his life. He wondered, briefly, if this was what Shawn had felt when he'd been shot, but discarded the idea a moment later. He was sure that it had hurt, but it was a different wound altogether and thus couldn't really be compared to what he was feeling now as the chain connected with his back for a second time. The force of the blow was enough to not only cut through Gus's skin, but also cracked a few of his ribs from behind. Tears sprung to Gus's eyes and he tried to relocate his brain to some other place, a place untouched by the pain and the helplessness he was presently feeling.

"Alright! Alright! I'll tell you anything you want! Just…just st-stop!" Shawn managed. His voice sounded choked off, and Gus opened his eyes just a bit. He saw Shawn with a noose around his neck, struggling to get his fingers between the rope and his skin, and was surprised to note that he, too, seemed to have tears in his eyes. Gus decided that those tears must be form Shawn struggling to breath, and not from fear over Gus's life; there was just no way that someone could cry for him like that.

The chain whip connected once more to Gus's back, and Gus forgot what he had been thinking of previously and screamed as fire raced up and down his spine and shoulder blades.

"Stop! Jesus Christ! Stop already!"

Finally, the leader held up his hand and the whip was laid at the man's side. Shawn took a few steadying breaths despite the pressure of the rope around his neck; seeing Gus's face had nearly sent him over the edge. He was literally shaking.

"What do you want to know? I'll tell you anything," Shawn said almost in a whisper.

"How much do the cops know?" the leader asked.

"They only know what I told you; that there might be a Neo-Nazi movement in the area, and that this complex is were you meet," Shawn said.

Gus was laying silently on the ground, panting. He could hardly breath for the pain that was racing all down his back and his torso from where his ribs had cracked and bruised. He wanted to tell Shawn that he was okay, that he didn't have to give this scum anything else, but he couldn't manage to get up the energy to speak.

"And that's it?"

"Yes, I swear. I didn't even know this was a drug ring before I came here, so how could they possibly know? That's all there is," Shawn said.

"Hm…very well. Kill the psychic quickly, and then dispose of his friend however you choose. Just make sure they can't trace it back to me. Oh, and kill Paul, too. He put us in enough danger as it is."

"What? No! Boss!" Paul argued, fighting as the people who had previously been his friends grabbed him. He fought out of their grip and raced towards the leader, "Mr. Evans! Please! Don't do this. I…I'll take the fall for killing these guys! Just don't let them do it!"

The leader, Mr. Evans apparently, made a look of disgust as the man grabbed at his pants. Then, he pulled a gun out of a holster that he had concealed underneath his jacket and shot Paul Washington in the head. The poor fool didn't even see it coming.

Shawn stared in amazement at the display of violence and complete disregard for previous camaraderie, but was forcefully pulled out of his reverie when the noose tightened and he was being pulled elsewhere. He saw moments later that he was headed towards a stack of small crates underneath a rafter. He had seen enough westerns to know what was coming.

As Fezzik heaved him atop the crate, Shawn didn't even bother fighting. He stared down at Gus, who stared back up at him, and the two exchanged a long look in which both tried to say what they were feeling without opening their mouths.

The leader moved towards Shawn's makeshift gallows and smirked up at him. Shawn wanted to reach down and strangle the man, but the giant had not only finished tying the top end of the rope to the rafters but had also bound his hands in front of him, so he had to settle for glaring at him instead.

"Sorry things had to end this way, Mr. Spencer. You understand, don't you?"

"And you understand that this whole thing is about to be over right? And that we've won?" Shawn said, having caught a glimpse of something that had bolstered his mood quite a lot.

The leader's face turned into a mask of puzzlement, and then he saw it, too—a shadow, creeping towards them, followed by a few more.

Gus let out a breath of relief then hissed as that caused a wave of discomfort to course through his battered body. He had been terrified that he would be witnessing Shawn's death, and then be subjected to the same torture and subsequent death of Corey Jasper before he would be able to join his best friend in the afterlife. Honestly, the death of Shawn would have hurt him more than any amount of physical torture they put him through.

Mr. Evans knew he was going to lose. His men were about as trustworthy as a pack of starving dogs—the second they were offered better food, they would turn on him. But he would be damned if he didn't take someone out with him.

Shawn was grinning from ear to ear as four uniformed officers stepped out from behind the crates, shouting orders at the six men to surrender, which, naturally, they didn't. Not right away at least. A mighty scuffle broke out, and Shawn watched Lassie and Juliet join the fray. Fezzik the Giant, rightly figuring them to be the leaders of the force, quickly moved to intercept them.

"Yeah! Go team!" Shawn shouted. Gus had scooted out of the way of the fighting the second the men let go of his ropes and was leaning sideways against one of the crates, breathing heavily as shock finally began to set in. He was so out of it, he only barely noticed when Shawn suddenly stopped shouting.

Mr. Evans stepped back after pushing the crates that had previously been holding Shawn up out from under him. He only took a moment to stand back and admire his work: he relished the way that Shawn kicked futilely at the air, his face turning blue as he was unable to drawn in valuable oxygen, then, Mr. Evans turned and ran form the fighting.

Gus, finally realizing that Shawn was being far too quiet, forced his eyes back open. What he saw nearly gave him the kick-start he needed to pull himself to his feet, but unfortunately, his knees buckled under his weight. He needed to save Shawn! Fezzik, after fighting gallantly, finally went down two feet away, and Juliet and Lassiter quickly came into view.

"Gus! Are you okay!?" Juliet asked, concerned. She had a large bruise on her brow and was favoring her left side a bit, but luckily she wasn't too badly off considering the size of her opponent. Lassiter had already moved past them to intercept the leader, who had run off in the opposite direction.

"Sh-shawn! Gus said, trying to draw Juliet's attention to his best friend, who was slowly beginning to stop struggling.

"Gus, I'm not Shawn. It's Juliet. You msut have hit your head pretty hard."

"No! Jules! Be-behind you! Quick…" Gus felt a limpness beginning to take hold of his body against his will. He was shutting down, his injuries and shock combing to drain the life out of him. Btu he had to…had to…Shawn…

"What are you talking about? Gus? Gus! I need a medic over here!" Juliet shouted before finally turning to look behind her. Then her blood froze inside of her.

Shawn was hanging by the neck from the rafters. And he wasn't moving.

_~*****~_

**A/N: You like? I certainly hope so! Please review!**


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